


Fade to Black

by LegendofMajora



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Gore, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suspense, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendofMajora/pseuds/LegendofMajora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if Izaya isn't already damaged, trouble comes in the name of Shizuo for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fade to Black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PendulumDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PendulumDeath/gifts).



The collision of flesh and steel only serve to make him laugh. A pounding headache starts in the back of his skull, rumbling like the roar behind him of anger and skipping pavement in leaps and skidding to get away. However with every step he keeps pushing faster to get away from pavement churning and turning into projectiles dotting the ground he treads on. Behind him if he catches a glance there are only more sharp objects honing in on him with not so much technique as strength when they slam and embed into the ground inches from where Izaya once steps. Sunlight bleeds into daylight even with the overhang of clouds ahead threatening to foretell what comes next in the souring taste of rain.

Slipping into the area of shadows hiding himself from what he's not sure is entirely there the screen of his phone lights up. Although not the same as the candy-color prize of taunting himself and the stupid feeling part of his brain taking the shape of an animal in its primal underdeveloped potential. A text reads for a business deal and drinks at some shady bar which is fine with him, tired already and catching his breaths in the fog of rain to come from heavy clouds overhead.

A foreshadow when it creeps along the silhouette of never looking back.

It's dark where he is in the middle of never knowing what day it is. Waking up in an alleyway, taking one too many chances and an angry client leading to a date rape drug in a drink not meant to be swallowed past the opening conversational "hello". Now Izaya realizes it in the moments of trying to move and finding his body heavy with drugs and filling with churning cement leaking from the bruise where he is kneed in the stomach from before. Harsh, angry words sputtering through the blood dripping from a broken nose he resets himself after he's covered in cum and blood. Eventually it's torn between struggling to get a twisted arm out of his coat to try and pull himself up when his thumb is broken and locked in the fabric. The last seconds of losing too much too soon like the ripped skin of his ass—as much as he'd like very much to forget the bruising there and up his sides when forced to ride some bigwig who wants him tied up and not able to say much of anything.

It's a loud contrast to waking up in a pile of garbage bags. Bloodstains on the ground and the only reason he's still alive is because of the coagulant nature of the drug slipped in a sour martini. Though much progress is never made when even the sun isn't up and perhaps today won't be his day to slip back into his torn jeans and hobble back to his apartment. Namie has probably left, too bored and too unconcerned with whether or not he's alive by the end of the day. As long as she has money and he has bribery, it doesn't matter one way or another. Greedy bitch, and for the strangest reason he reminds himself of what the ringleader had called him which happened to be the same nickname. Other than cock-sucking whore, slut, or some other choice names to go along with slapping his penis in Izaya's face. The disgusting skin discoloration and the sores should have been a warning to Izaya.

Alarm bells are supposed to sound in these kinds of things and the only thing he hears and has been since finding himself alone is the ringing in his ears where one of his eardrums may have been split with the screwdriver pressed into his ear. It is only for the detail, he knows, as he holds in the shrill yelps as he is repeatedly thrust into, screwdriver violating his ear and waiting to pull out the scream in his throat. Even if they push and push and _push_ (screaming in one way or another, him when his head splatters against the brick wall) it only serves to make the ringing deafening and then the pop of the skin collapsing and blood rushing through with a clean bite of screwdriver scratching the inside.

Not that he can do much stuffed full of cocks on either end. Thumbs breaking so he can't hold a knife and twisting into too many empty promises of holding in shrieks or sinful slippery moans when his own cock is forced into hardness. A knife on him, threatening to castrate him then and there while being fucked in the ass if he dares to come before he's filled with the dirty sperm. Blade kissing the skin leaving the bites up and trailing from his groin, flowing in rivulets that catch on dirt blending into pale skin. When it's their little inside joke inside of him and pulverizing him from kicks and punches to bites trailing down his throat it must make so much sense to them why they tuck themselves in and leave him to bleed to death. Not the common courtesy of watching him die. Never plunging the knife against his head fully into his skull and speed up the brain death that comes with what happens next.

Taking turns in between gagging and pushing to pull him apart Izaya doesn't remember most of it but as in disconnected sequences of events leaving behind the ugly marks on his skin and his broken thumbs twisted into holes of his jacket, black and purple by the time he bleeds from his penetrated ear. His ass is beyond violated venturing into the territory of possibly never coming back to be the same. Raped and left for dead or pick himself up and take the pieces together until he can manage Shinra's without sounding the alarm for concern. Hates the feeling of being weak like this.

For now, his eyes slide shut against their will, rattling in his brain like the click of his jaw scraping in a forced turn of events. Black spots litter the ground amongst the puddles of blood, aching with throbbing pulses in the moments he sleeps for a moment of the night.

When he wakes, he realizes in four seconds that his thumbs are broken. One of his toes is missing, too. In two more that it takes to open his eyes he realizes that today is still night which means everyone must be mocking him now, laughing should they dare to find him where he is, slumped in rotting piles of regret and the bitter sour stench of agony when he moves. Furthermore he doesn't mind not counting the moments if this is truly going to be the end of the infamy lived as an informant—and dying as a whore. Disgraced dirty disgusting—freak of nature in which nature gives back with cold asphalt and sticky blood to clutch onto when his legs are too weak to move. It simply means that he's okay if he dies now and wouldn't mind the pain to fade away into whatever darkness comes to haunt him in the afterlife. If there's a Hell, he's sure that it wouldn't be worth what he deserves.

And then there's a not-so-friendly reminder that maybe he isn't alone when the voice that starts sends shivers down his spine into toe-curling anxiety. "Well fuck, flea," he knows the voice and it takes the courage to smile shamefully when he knows Shizu-chan is seeing him like this. "Lying in the trash you are. Took you fucking long enough." If there isn't virus swirling in his throat up his ass and dripping down his thighs along with his blood screaming infection—anger: why does this hurt so much if Shizu-chan doesn't—and he chokes, curling tighter into himself when his brain is on autopilot of losing too much in one night and salty liquid tastes dry on his broken lips.

"Sh-Shizu..." Izaya manages, smiling just as broken as the inside of his head is. Shizuo's there, kneeling down and his fingers reach out to touch Izaya's cheek, swiping the hair away and catching the empty glance reflected at him. It's going to be okay, his mind repeats itself in a frenzied sway like the world curving on an edge tilting down and bending for the last bow of this silly play. Except this time he's breaking piece by piece and it hurts so much when he realizes it doesn't want to end now or here. Shizu-chan is there, eyes curving like the sneer to a gentle frown when the grip on Izaya's hair tightens to a straining pinch. Watching Izaya try to hold himself together with what little he has left and never the surprise when Shizuo doesn't look at him, but through him in the blank silence of trying to forget and the stars above are too dim to be seen.

And his throat catches in a pitiful noise not meant to sound like giving in and more of the frustrated groan when his hair is suddenly pulling and he's moved against the alley wall, sitting on twisted kneecaps and catching his tongue between his bloodstained teeth. The blood is all his and there's more down his throat if he coughs to check the pulse of beating half-alive. Please please please please please—kill him now, Shizu-chan, don't sneer and laugh when he can't catch his own breath and the blood slips between the folds of lips and the trickle of Shizuo's touch on his chin.

Please—"And what the fuck happened to you, then?" The clench and pull of a zipper Izaya can feel ringing in his ears like the last starting chokes of sobs when he realizes this is happening and whatever he seems to remember is Shizuo supposing to love him instead of catch and strangle against the wall. Izaya remembers how to grin like he's enjoying this and forget to taunt Shizuo when it's not in his best interest if fingers are wrapping around his throat and pressing to squeeze and collapse. Just like the first starting of a heartbeat in the making of warping around the shape of Shizuo's fingers and imprinting in his own palm for the dreams of waking up to cold fingers. He's not sure when the obsession happened but when hate-love— _I hate_ _to love_ _you—_ keeps him reminding himself— _I don't want to_ _hate-love_ _you—_ that Shizu-chan just doesn't share the same sort of ugly attraction— _I love you too much—_ set by a practical joke to be bathed in private infamy.

Instead of making room for any other stupid emotions Shizuo at least thrusts his half-hard penis into Izaya's face, reliving the rush of adrenaline spiking too much too often in the form of suicide by never seeing the human beneath. "Suck, flea. Do something useful with that shitty mouth of yours for once." Izaya would like to offer that his mouth is dirty and swimming full of sexually-transmitted disease which he believes to be a venomous mix of gonorrhea, herpes, and if he's even more fucked up the ass with two penises splitting skin in the first time of screaming for the last then it's HIV. Izaya feels more alive when he's bleeding on the ground then having Shizuo force his dick into his teeth where they seem to crack upon the force. At least he hears a quiet groan of contentment and recalls that this must be what fate is supposed to be.

His lips slip and slide over the clean skin of Shizuo's dick and maybe it's karma that will infect Shizuo with his disease of weeping pain. Composed of ugly discoloration the beginnings of precum beating down his stomach into ulcers while a hand pulls up Izaya's shirt to show the blood-colored bruises turning black. Each thrust of hips into his mouth is angry frustration he can taste in the metallic burn of semen and blood when Shizuo strikes the back of his mouth and precum drips over his bitten tongue. Shizuo's moans grow louder in increasing tempo with the tandem thrust of his penis in and out of Izaya's mouth and has the capacity to not feel when he breaks teeth with the skin of his penis. They are already cracking in the least form of discomfort and more of necessity with the weeping nerves leaving to provide some sort of lubricant for Shizuo.

"Sh-Shizu..." Izaya may be whimpering or the saltwater down his cheeks is too much for the hand grasping his throat, thrusting into hot heat and currently aware of how much it collapses Izaya's windpipe when his ass is just spoiled goods. Please, kill him Shizuo why hesitate when it hurts so much that he doesn't even see Izaya as the weakling beneath him. "Sh-Shizu..." it hurts too much to count the pangs of his heart beating and gagging and the best worst part is Shizuo can't hear when he's gagging over the cock thrusting further down his throat and one final arch of Shizuo's sliver of giving in. Izaya finds himself shuddering when hot ropes squirt down his throat, aching and his stomach churns nervously. It's already full of death and chaos and disgusting squelches of blood and sticky semen that tastes sour just like the stale night air of warm summer ending monuments of being raped in an alleyway.

He bleeds out from his mouth and finds that the fingers grasping his throat move up the side of his jaw, almost comforting in the caress when searching for the meaning of being tender to a lover in mornings where stars hide beneath the sheets. Maybe not in this lifetime when Izaya's eyes start to flutter shut with eyelashes brushing against gentle fingers. Supposing to love him in a time line twisted and ripped apart like in third grade when he rips the wings off a butterfly. There is no _please_ or cry or quiet whine when Shizuo's fingers brush against his eyelid, kneeling to Izaya who dares not open his eyes in case of scaring away the angry monster and show how ashamed he can be. When it's—not the other ones. The one that isn't supposed to hurt this much and angry and scared and aching when it's not fair enough that—he hears the sound of his breath hitching and his eyelashes are wet. And then it feels even worse, contorting to twist uncomfortably in Izaya's chest and down his throat that burns with the taste of sticky sour cum. Because Shizu-chan's lips press against the eyelid, lingering and leaving too quickly to taste how much it hurts.

There are fingers digging into his eye socket when he's screaming aloud. Freely, torn and cut breaking down every last nerve of defense when he struggles as his eyes go dark and his eyelids flash open to Shizuo above him, head wrenched to stare into the brown eyes that aren't looking for him. And the scream sounds so unlike him when his nerves are breaking please no no no no—don't do this Shizu-chan what are you doing—and the strangled gasp of crying and eyes ripping from their skull when Izaya really believes it can't be much better than this. Screaming crying breaking ripping splitting apart so quickly and fast that it happens and he hears the tugging dull pop of nerves ripping and the burn of fire down to his brain where he can't see out of his right eye when it's in the palm of Shizuo's hand, staring right back at him and when the shock sets in he can't breathe anymore. Quietly staring back while he hyperventilates and wonders why in the numbing onset of scratching beneath the skin and blood pouring down his cheek why does this happen and why—

Shizuo's penis, covered in a thin film of precum slick with blood, slams into his empty eye socket. It quiets the screaming to an even louder cry of agony ripping down the flesh staining the ground and hot blood spurting when Shizuo pounds into him. The salty bitter stings too badly and it hurts not to let the tears fall freely when Shizuo thrusts and moans. Please please please make this stop Shizu-chan— _oh_ —Izaya knows better than to plead when he thinks his heart is crumbling like his resolve to keep breathing in the moments of when Shizuo is taking pleasure in holding Izaya's right eye, stained red, to his left one and if he flinches or blinks Shizuo will thrust harder. And despite it all and that's supposed to be like stars in a dark sky quietly contemplating the meaningless existence of falling too hard and never not knowing Shizuo hates him more than to consider a good skull fuck with his eye crushing his other one going blind and drunk on anger and fear. The agony tearing holes into his brain burning flesh quickens rapidly as Shizuo begins the onslaught of an orgasm building and for what it's worth maybe Izaya should simply bite with jagged broken edges and rip off whatever parts of this stupid little heart betray him now.

He cums in blinding white flashes of Izaya watching his right eyeball be crushed and split with a soft squelching sound, stomach churning and throat closing as he gags from the sight, too fucked in the head and literally now to do anything other than shut down whatever remains. Screaming no no no no nononononononononononono—Shizuo cums in a gasp and fingers breaking into Izaya's skull when he does, penetrating deep into the fatty tissue of an intelligent brain turning sour and filling with hot wet and stinging cum.

Izaya lets the final scream tear from his throat when he watches, slumping to the ground covered in blood and semen, as Shizuo steps on his heart and doesn't turn back.

It's okay, his brain mumbles quietly.

Darkness draws the curtain of a cleanup mess mistaken for heartache. It's better not to let Shizu-chan see, should he come back from the cigarette smell drenching Izaya and clinging to the scent of rough sex in his eye and mouth. Fucked dry and the best part is that he's sure if there's an erection below his missing belt line then he's sure that his penis would never move again, limp and a twitch as a response for anything and everything beyond rape and murder in the first degree of still being alive for far too long. It makes the most sense in keeping his eye closed while the gaping hole in his head feels deadened and alive with screeching nerves around the spasm of blood vessels attempting to catch the breath of blood swallowing down his throat in a bittersweet taste. The rest of his head is empty, quiet, and dull for once.

Almost peaceful enough to slip off into what comes after beginning the repayment of sinning in having human emotions, disgusting distorted things of petty imaginations and pretty fingers when his hands are stained red and black and white. They taste just the same as saltwater and ash crunching into gravel when his body slides to the ground and the most sense in the logical parts of emotion are glaring contradictions that possibly informants are not immortal in their own cages of last names. Conceivable? Unlikely when accepting without much participation the invaluable course of breathing his last and brain matter squishing on the ground in squelching noises like the right eye that pops. Entirely in the palm of Shizu-chan's hand, the beast, and watching with one eye as to not keep the cruelty from not being extended to a courtesy pity fuck. Tuck the dangling remnants of hurt and anger back into the solid mass of air swishing in and out of the place of where his skull has been penetrated and fucked raw to bleed and die.

His brain tries reassurances when his body feels numb. Hallucinate the feeling of arms wrapping around him, pulling tight and can it be that he imagines Shizuo holding him he'll never know for sure. He's not supposed to have these silly stupid things pulling him back down to the Earth where it's not going to be accepted for being maimed and dead in less than ten minutes in the sound of a biological clock cut free from the wires. Empty and too tired for anger and the sound of his name ringing in his ears by the tune of loneliness and truly—what a terribly horrifying sight to see. His own crumpled mass becoming a product of the greatest fear besides emotional dysfunction shutdown end all in what sounds of—

"...Izaya...!" Arms wrapping around him Izaya hears the sound of his own screams, trembling in volume when the sound is unnatural and hoarse—why? This is just an illusion playing cruel games when the chance of not having suffered enough is too likely for the odds against sleeping on pavement in crushing skulls and preferential to having hearts ripped from chests. Welling up hideous discomfort isolating into aching numb throbs of a slowing pulse pulled by cracking each rib and stuffing slender fingers inside to pull and squeeze.

It's not okay, his brain sighs.

"Izaya, come on," it's not his own voice and it's not the arms—heavy and warm and throbbing alive—when his eyes refuse to open and clench tighter because the screaming isn't stopping. "Izaya, listen—it's me, you're okay, just don't—" Voice in his ear, frantic and worried concerned leaving nothing left in this empty heart of his to watch as it squelches in another step away from—breathing in.

"Shh, shh," Izaya curls further into the warmth, shuddering and the shivers don't end with just that as they vibrate through his skull with sharp pangs. Coherent in the function of pretending to not exist and rusty red nails driving into his eye—"Izaya, come on, I'm here. It's _okay,_ please just look at me." And there's no telling of tomorrow's empty eyes in lights too dull and the pain throbbing in his head is too much to stop squeezing tightly to let himself die on asphalt. Informant in ruins over stupid petty things love is just an obstacle in taking things too far and never giving enough of himself and whatever it takes to look the right way. "Hey, don't cry, it's okay," Shizuo's voice is in a dull murmur sharpening with concern and Izaya doesn't want to hallucinate this any more than he should of—doesn't have love doesn't need it why does this have to hurt so badly and trample over everything he has left.

"Hurts," he swallows a scratching piece of glassy wetness, shards trickling down his throat.

It's just _"..._ _o_ _ver,"_ Shizuo finishes for him inside his head in the odd little twist of unexpected ending daydreams or nightmares taking sides. It's not okay. And it's fine if he wants to let the trails burn into his cheeks. Because Shizu-chan's voice in his head is gone, leaving him empty and drying on the pavement.

It hurts, his mind whispers.

And for once, he lets it be the stinging in his eye. Because Shizu-chan is the last thing he sees, his head turns up to the sky.

He breathes to last.

"Just a migraine. It's going to be okay." Shizuo's leaning over and those arms are sweeping him into quieter gasps when his voice is too raw and uncut splitting open and leaking like the salt that traces into the corners of his lips.

"I-I c-can't," Izaya moans, frustrated and angry and afraid of losing his mind when he can't focus on what isn't here and where he is—fingers on his arm, gentle touches and feather-light brushing with irony of a cruel sort of knowing that this isn't real. "Can't see, Sh-Shizu-ch—" and maybe some more quiet gasps to help the pain of when he never wants to open his eyes and see himself bleeding out.

"No, no, don't." Squeeze of fingers, one grasping a hand and pulling his fingers not broken into a loose hold that tightens and slackens. "Open your eyes. You can't see out of your right eye, remember? Shinra said it was a migraine." Anchoring him down right here and there he is and the ground beneath him doesn't reek of copper but of musky shampoo and hair on his cheek. Lips pressing against the same eyelid, heartbeat thundering into his ears and it's not his own frantic one while he breathes through his mouth, unsure certainty tipping over and weighing heavily in his chest over the brighter darkness of reality. "It's going to be fine, Izaya. You know it's only lasted for a couple hours." Shizuo's lips are too gentle on him and if there are tears then he must taste how bitter they are. Leaking like hot trails of blood and stinging on his lips he bites—when did he bite his lips? "Hit your head this morning. I freaked out and took you to Shinra. Come on, look at me." he sounds urgent and it's better than the hiccups falling silent.

"You're not there, Sh-Shizu-chan," Izaya protests when lips continue to press against his temple, feeling the throb of veins pulsing too loudly on the right side of his head and doesn't dare to look. "Y-you're not there, you don't care." It takes more to say what's on his tongue and it hurts when it moves, movement aggravating the headache he has. Not possible not true all false memories allocating into diversions after the nightmarish ending and the sky isn't there any longer but it is warmer outside so he's probably on death's door, too tired to knock and give up no soul to hold. He imagines his skin tastes like salty burnt copper and still warm as he dies, resisting the possibilities of this being true when it so desperately can't be so. That's not how _revenge_ works.

He hears a quiet snort and doesn't find this funny at all. But the volume level is quiet, unlike what he knows Shizuo to be burning in the anger with the cold look of indifference and turning just the other way. "Bullshit. Did you lose your memory too?" he grouches, Izaya not expecting any better than some stupid hallucination and unsure how to properly convey just killing him to get it over with. With Shizu-chan it's just too much. But the silence that follows and he doesn't speak when arms are wrapping around him tighter and breaths over the shell of his ear. "You had a nightmare. You were screaming before you woke up."

It's not supposed to hurt when he hears it but the pang in his chest makes the dizziness worse. Thumb brushing against his cheek, lips pressing to the corner of his mouth and he hears a sigh in a muted attempt to not brush against him. "If I'm not real, then open your eyes and find out. The lights are off because you were complaining about them."

Lies. All of the words so pretty and hollow just like emotions but this time they work in twisting the flesh remaining in Izaya's skull throbbing after vicious rape by the same hands around him pulling him into beating hearts not his own call to take. Izaya functions on lies in the physicality of being there to watch them form clouds of smoke from cigarettes and the absent thoughts of wanting to carefully pull one into his lips, pursing it with never any intention to smoke but for the experience of feeling. Wet or dry lips on the same rolled paper to recreate the press of stitching back each and every night sleepless dizzy in insomnia and tendencies of crushing himself in the process so his entire self can't return.

Maybe it's the second or third press of lips on his, tilting his head back carefully when he lets his vision clear, slowly allowing his sight to come back and feeling the rush of how stupid he has just been. All when Shizu-chan is above him, holding one hand to Izaya's head against his shoulder. If he feels like a child being cradled then he doesn't squirm and protest the beginnings of trying to wake but, blinking slowly and his eyes flutter shut again from the ache. "See? Just a dream." And the silent exhale of the breath he hasn't realized he's been holding this entire time. His head aches with a pounding throb on the right side. He's not bleeding out in an alleyway and he can see Shizuo in the blurry part of his right eye, looking down at him and a frown on his lips.

It's not real. Can't be shouldn't be wouldn't ever happen if knowing Izaya's accordance to playing games and being played is another game board with scattered pieces all around. To feel this all is so much, emotions playing games and trumping the king of his throne seat of a god to guide and tumble and fall when he plays his part. None of this is remotely real even if the pain is isolated to the right side of his head to which he remembers banging against a brick wall and another image flashes of a door frame popping questions like spit bubbles trailing down his skin after the first squad leaves him filled.

Which makes it even more stupid when Izaya realizes they're maybe or maybe not in their bedroom at Shizu-chan's apartment and the screaming is ridiculous.

Doesn't feel real at all—butbutbutbut it _is_ when he takes account of memories starting to seep into his head. Slipping in the bathroom, slamming into the frame of the door and falling, lots of blood—not an alleyway, bathroom tile—and shouts—not mean, Shizu-chan—no drink no sour no empty taste but the hush of nightmares starting to fade and this gut-clenching ache is trembling when it has to be shaken free. Fading to black corners of deleted memory. Okay, he tells himself and Shizuo's reflect the same of meaning that everything he's imagined from rape to heartache in smashing to fragments is only another hitched breath of calming back down. Despite it all in his efforts his head throbs painfully, giving him leeway to groan when it begins to hurt too much.

Gently now, preserve himself as best as he can before Shizuo can evaporate like the soap bubbles spilling over the rim of the bathtub and just as a precaution he blinks. Moments of stilled silence pass, Izaya's breaths pushed and pulled in tandem with the rise and fall of Shizuo's chest, feeling himself slide on the slippery slope of sleep and not love-lust-hate-break of a nightmare. Pangs still ring like phantoms sliding bells underneath his pillow of Shizuo's arm tucking cover and they're curled up in bedsheets. Izaya stays close to Shizuo, opening his eyes once again dulled with sleep and sharp ache cramping the nerves over his eye spanning back.

"Okay now?" Shizuo murmurs too softly for himself and it doesn't ring in Izaya's head like a buzzing scrape of a—gone. Empty memories and hearts filling with blood back up to the lying down and fingers tangling in his, another hand cradling his head while lips trail down the right side of his face. Shizuo is detailed enough to glance at Izaya once over the light kisses and eyes heavy with the opposite of bitter anger. Concern and Izaya blinks, right eye shutting in the bleary haze of Shizuo's image reassuring above him and turns to let Shizuo kiss the eyelid that shuts, mindful of the stressed twitching and a thumb brushing the spots of being kissed only after Izaya's head tucks into his collarbone. They can't fake this even if Izaya's brain is foggy and empty and full of warm room and sheets and body for the simple things. Comfortable silence.

It's okay, his brain hums, and that's perfectly fine.

**Author's Note:**

> PendulumDeath: Oh, I want Shizuo skull-fucking Izaya! It may be why I never requested anything on the kink meme...
> 
> What the fuck, dear.
> 
> ~  
> Notice a spelling mistake? Please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
